Page 14 of The Serial Killer's Sister
And with less conscience than now.
Her skin was pale like porcelain, and appeared smooth like it too. He couldn’t help himself; he removed his glove and, bending forward and down, he ran a fingertip over her cheek. So soft. Warmth still clinging to it. It would take around twelve hours before it cooled, but rigor mortis would start after three hours, so he had to get a move on; he would struggle to get her into the right pose once that happened.
Finally in the lounge, he hauled her onto the sofa and laid her down on her side. Standing back, he examined the scene. He shook his head and went back to her, lifting one leg and angling it so her thighs were open. Then he draped one arm so it hung close to the carpeted floor. That was better. Taking the kit from the table where he’d left it when he was upstairs dealing with her, he removed the needle and cotton.
After some roughly laid stitches, he stepped back and whispered, ‘My lips are sealed and a promise is true: I won’t break my word; my word to you.’
He ducked down and grabbed one of the other props he’d brought. He wrapped her fingers around the neck ofthe wine bottle and pressed them into the glass to keep them in place. Here, the rigor mortis would come in useful. But it didn’t really matter if the bottle dropped from her dead grasp, because that would add to the authenticity. She might not ever get to see his handiwork, but it was important to him to be true to the memories. He took the front page of one of today’s newspapers and laid it on the arm of the sofa.
He was pleased with his work, but it needed one final touch.
Every serial killer had to start with one murder. And every serial killer needed a calling card.
Chapter 9
There are three missed-call notifications on my mobile – all from Serena. I’d turned it off while DI Walker was here so as not to be distracted, but now I know I should return her call or she’ll worry and likely drive over to check up on me. I don’t want her getting mixed up in any of this. The police might well believe that Henry wouldn’t be stupid enough to hang around my place now, but I don’t want to chance it in case they’re wrong.
‘Sorry, Serena. I didn’t hear my phone.’
‘Thank God for that! I was in full panic mode after the third try and so I called The Right Price to speak to Ross—’
‘Oh, really?’ I screw up my eyes and silently curse my friend for caring so much about me that she’d call my husband at his estate agency.Please have been out conducting a viewing.‘Was he there?’
‘No …’
I heave a sigh. ‘Good,’ I say, without thinking.
‘… but he came into the office just as Yasmin wasabout to hang up, so …’ Serena falters as I give an audible groan. ‘Er … should Inothave spoken to him?’ Bafflement spills out through the words. I rub a hand over my forehead. Damn. I should’ve foreseen someone telling Ross, and pre-empted it by calling and explaining the situation immediately. I think it’s too late now …
‘What did you say to him?’
‘I only said I’d been trying to get hold of you, but of course, he was confused as to why I wasn’t with you, given the time.’
‘Please tell me you didn’t mention the suspension. I haven’t had a chance to talk with him.’ Like a child, I cross my fingers as I wait for her response.
‘Not in so many words,’ she says, slowly. I can hear guilt in her tone. ‘But he might have got that impression.’
My stomach dips. ‘How?’
‘Well, I had to say something about why I was worried, didn’t I? So I did imply that you’dhadto go home early … like, against your will.’
I hold my sigh in and count to three to calm myself. ‘It’s fine, I don’t expect you to lie for me, Serena. It’s my fault, I could’ve dropped in to see him on my way home. I was just in the worst mood and stupidly thought it’d be better if I waited until he got back from work.’
‘Probably best not to air your laundry in public anyway,’ Serena says. Her falsely light and breezy voice takes on a heavier, uneasy tone. ‘Although, that ship might well have sailed.’
My heart plummets. ‘He hasn’t seen the footage, has he?’ Now it’s my turn to be in full panic mode. It really needs to come from me, with me controlling the narrative as much as possible. Limit the damage somehow.
‘I’m sorry, Anna, I think …’ She’s speaking, but the words are no longer reaching my brain, or at least my brain has stopped paying attention, because the sound of the key in the lock has superseded them.
‘Got to go.’ I hang up and head straight for the door. Ross’s face is pale, startled, as I leap at him the second he walks in. Not wishing to give him a chance to get a word in first, either, I plant my lips firmly on his and kiss him hard. He pushes me away.
‘Ow, Anna.’ He presses his fingers to his mouth. ‘Jesus.’
‘Sorry, just pleased to see you. Been a hell of a day.’ I place my hands on his cheeks, offering a smile. He squints.
‘Yes. So I heard.’
‘Let’s sit, shall we? I’ll get the wine.’ And before he can decline, I rush towards the kitchen. I slam around for a bit, collecting two glasses from the dishwasher before snatching the already opened bottle from the fridge. My hands shake as I pour the remaining liquid almost equally between them. I add a little more into mine, swig a mouthful, check it’s equal, then take the glasses into the lounge.
